Queen Of The Web
by Platinum Express
Summary: Kidnapped and captured by the one person she can't bear to stare in the face, Hermione decides that her days as a slave girl are numbered. But what if something draws her back to The Web?
1. Taverns and Curses

**CHAPTER 1**

It began to rain as Hermione stepped into the tavern.

She shut the door firmly behind her, ignoring the eyes of customers who turned to survey her at the sound of the bell. Curiosity clouded their gazes as they took in her professional attire, the crispness of her white linen shirt, and dark pantsuit, and the undeniable formality of the practical brown leather handbag. Her hair, which was a mess from the dampness, was tacked haphazardly behind her head in a chignon, and dark circles spanned her eyes under thin wire-frame glasses.

Brushing the first few drops of water off the lapels of her jacket, Hermione glanced around the room until she caught sight of a familiar head of bright red hair in the crowd. Ron was seated near the bar, and he waved cheerfully as he caught sight of her. Smiling back, she walked towards him, ignoring the sharp pain in her ankles from the towering heels she had chosen to wear that morning, and the slow broil of a headache that was preparing to form behind her temples. As she drew level with the table, she un-slung her handbag with a sigh of relief and fixed it around the back of her chair.

'You look like hell,' said Ron, standing up and kissing her cheek. He stepped back and then surveyed her a little more closely. 'Not slept in a while, have you?'

'I haven't had a chance,' said Hermione, taking the seat opposite him. She kicked off her heels and arched her ankles, sighing with satisfaction as she did so. 'I've had a horrible, hectic day.'

Ron made a sympathetic face over his tankard of beer. 'That bad?'

'Two drug scandals and a case of man-slaughter. I don't know why they don't understand that I'm a _corporate_ lawyer, and I don't have time for their petty little problems.'

Ron raised an eyebrow as she glanced around to flag a waiter. The room was unusually crowded for such an out of the way spot, and was brightly lit, with checked table clothes and polished wood. A portly man in an apron approached them.

'What can I get for you?'

'A glass of wine, please, and a turkey sandwich. Could you get the wine first?'

'We've got Bordeaux and house.'

'Bordeaux. Unchilled.'

The waiter nodded and departed with an air that Hermione noted- with satisfaction- was competent and professional. As soon as he did so she turned her attention back to Ron, who was still observing her archly.

'What?'

'Petty little problems?' he repeated, still holding his eyebrow aloft. It was a habit of his that Hermione didn't like. His eyes were very narrow, and his face became so tight when he expressed himself like this that it shone with contempt. She fumbled, trying to understand what he was saying.

'Huh?'

'Your two drug scandals and case of man-slaughter.'

'Oh,' she said, remembering her previous words. 'Well- I suppose that wasn't the most diplomatic thing to say. But don't you think it's true?'

'I don't see how being a drug addict is petty, nor going to Azkaban for it.' said Ron, with a hint of amusement.

Hermione brushed this aside with a wave of her hand.

'Not like that,' she said, dismissively. 'What I meant was that it's all very petty to _me_. Yes, I know, Ron, it's very callous of me- there's no need to look like that.'

The portly waiter materialized beside her, and set down a glass of wine. Hermione dropped her eyes to its color, admiring the way the lights in the tavern glinted off its velvety surface. She raised the glass, and said, 'Cheers.'

'To your callousness?' asked Ron.

'To my competence.' She took a sip of wine, and then said, 'How was your day?'

Ron shrugged. 'So and so,' he said, 'Harry's sorry he couldn't come, by the way. He's still in the office. Last I saw, he was buried behind a mound of paperwork.'

Hermione frowned. This was the third of their traditional Friday night dinners that Harry had missed- in a row. He had seemed very tired the past few months, always jumpy and irritable. It was an unpleasant thought, but she had to admit she was worried about him.

'Don't,' said Ron, observing the look on her face.

'Don't what?'

'Worry for him so much. He's a big boy. He can take care of himself.'

Hermione frowned. 'How did you know I was worrying?'

'I know you,' said Ron, with a laugh. 'You just frowned and started chewing on your lip, not to mention your face gets the most maternal expression ever. It's strange to see someone who calls herself _robotic_ to look so maternal.'

'Firstly,' said Hermione, taking a sip of wine and raising the index finger of the hand that was wrapped around the goblet, 'I don't call myself robotic. I call myself efficient. Is that such a bad thing?'

'I think it's brilliant.'

'Thank you, because so do I. You'd appreciate it a lot more if you ever worked in the legislative department. The number of bungling fools who try and avoid making decisions just so that they wouldn't have to bear the consequences of it later it stupendous. You'd think they'd have the brains to know the difference between right and wrong, but they don't.'

'Are we talking morally, now?'

'No, but that's equally important. I was talking more in terms of _common sense_.' She made such a contemptuous noise as she set the goblet back on the table that Ron chuckled.

'What's the second thing?' he asked.

'I was coming to that. I'm not _maternal_ about Harry. I care about him as a friend. And I know he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I'd just like to be there if he needs help.'

Ron smiled. 'That makes two of us,' he said, easily. 'Don't fret too much, though. He'll come to us if it becomes too much- he always has.'

The words touched a chord with both of them, and they lapsed into a nostalgic silence. Hermione found herself thinking of their seventh year, when they had gone traipsing through the woods on the lookout for Voldemort's Horcruxes. It wasn't a pleasant memory. She didn't revisit it often, and she found herself shuddering as she did so.

_Don't_. She pushed the thoughts from her mind, and glanced up as the waiter placed a plate in front of her. The sandwich looked robust, stuffed with red meat and a sort of thick sauce that stained the bread. A side order of salad leaves and fresh onions, with bright gold carrots accompanied it.

'Thank you.'

She bit into the sandwich and felt some of the tension in her stomach melt away. Chewing contentedly, she transferred her attention back to Ron.

'You've gone quiet.'

'So had you.'

'Relapse,' she said, wearily. Both of them knew what it meant. Ron pursed his lips.

'It doesn't do us any good, thinking about the war,' he said, a trifle gently.

'I know,' said Hermione, wearily. She looked across the table at Ron, at the soft understanding in his eyes, and suddenly felt all the pressure that she had thought had melted settle back on her shoulders. It was too much, she thought, to have to sit there and watch him _care_ so much for her, too much to know that although they had spoken about this before, he still expected them to become something more than friends some day. Somehow, with Harry retreating further and further into his work, Ron seemed to be inching closer to her, as though trying to steal precious moments they could get when they were alone. And even though she loved Ron more than anyone in the world-

'I have to go to the bathroom,' she said, abruptly pushing her chair back and standing up. An expression of surprise crossed Ron's face, and she knew what he was thinking: that it was the mention of the war that had made her so fidgety. She stared stonily at him for a moment, and when he inclined his head slightly, she turned and left. She pushed her way to the bar, and leaned over it, trying to catch the bartender's attention.

He caught sight of her and leaned over the counter.

'Can I help you, miss?'

'Could you tell me the way to the restroom, please?'

'Sure,' he inclined his head towards a narrow corridor that led out of the restaurant, and said, 'Last room.'

'Thank you.'

She glanced over her shoulder once as she set off down the corridor. Ron was hunched over his beer, staring broodingly into it. From the raw, somewhat tender expression on his face, she thought she could guess exactly what he was thinking. He was probably worried about her reaction to the things he had said, was probably trying to piece together how to make things better for her- how to take care of her.

_Why does it bother me so much that he wants to take care of me? That's what every girl wants, isn't it?_

She puzzled over the question as she walked down the corridor. It was narrow, lit with plastic lampshades that cast a whirlwind of soft pastel lights on its bare stone walls. Logically, she mused, she should love it that Ron cared so much about her. It was what every girl wanted, after all. She had absolutely no business feeling claustrophobic every time he spoke gently, or gave her an understanding glance.

_He's just taking care of me._

But as soon as she thought it, she realized that that was the problem. Ron never realized that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. He spent all his time and energy into wondering how to make things alright for her, and never stopped to wonder whether she may like them just as they were. He had practically appointed himself as her _nanny_, she thought, a little distastefully.

She shook her head as she neared the end of the corridor, trying to dispel the confusion this sudden revelation had caused her. The walls came to a blank dead end in front of her, furnished with a small picture of a pink-cheeked shepherdess in a gilded frame.

She blinked.

There were two doors in front of her, one to the right and another to the left. She frowned and then moved towards the left one. Her fingers closed around the icy-cold knob, and she pushed it open.

The moment Hermione stepped into the room, she became painfully aware of two things.

The first, was that there were three people in it. One of them was tied to a chair like a chicken, hanging forwards against his bonds, with straw colored hair falling over his face. The other two were dressed in dark robes, and were pointing their wands at him, one of them digging into the spongy flesh of his temple.

The second, was that she was screaming, loudly and shrilly. Because at the exact moment that she stepped into the room, one of the robed men flexed his wand, and said, 'Avada Kedavra.'

* * *

For two seconds, all Hermione could look at was the frozen expression of horror on the face of the man- corpse- that was not slumped forward. His mouth was drawn back against clean white teeth, and his eyes were stretched wide with fear. He seemed to be looking directly at Hermione. She tasted bile at the back of her throat, and struggled to swallow it down.

She heard a step and the noise of the door snicking, and whirled around. In the second it took her to turn, someone said, 'Expelliarmus!" and she felt her wand zoom out of her pocket.

A third man- one she hadn't seen yet- had stepped neatly between the exit and herself, and had bolted it with a decisive flourish. He twirled her wand experimentally in his fingers, digging the tips into the gnarls in the wood as though trying to memorize it. He was dressed, like the other two, in dark robes, with a hood pulled low over her face. All that visible to Hermione was a narrow jaw, pale chin, and a soft, malleable mouth, that was now faintly pursed with contemplation.

'What do we do?'

She started and twisted around at the voice. Her hand instinctively went to her pocket, but then she realized that she had been disarmed, and that the man at the door had her wand. Part of her shock melted away, and was replaced by a cold, knotted sensation of fear. The two men near the chair had stepped away from the corpse, and taken a step towards her. One of them was braced against the wall of the room. For the first time, Hermione noticed her surroundings: the naked light bulb that hung from the ceiling, raw wooden rafters, and a complete lack of furnishing. The room looked like it hadn't been used in years: a patina of dust covered the floor, and she could what looked like grease prints on the wall.

'Joel, what do we do?' said one of them men behind her. He was talking directly to the man at the door, who still looked thoughtful- what was visible of him, anyway.

Hermione tried to clear her throat. 'Give me back my w-wand.' she said, her fingers clenching in on themselves and digging painfully into her palm. She had tried to keep her voice steady, and was annoyed when it wavered at the end. She was scared our of her wits, but she knew that displaying any form of weakness wasn't going to help her at all. She mentally judged the distance to the doorway, wondered if she could push Joel out of the way, but gave that up when she realized she didn't have a wand, and he could stun her anytime he wanted. She glanced around but there was no window in sight.

'What do we do?' asked the man at the wall, again. He was looking somewhat confused.

'What do you think we do?' asked the second man, who had retreated behind the chair.

'It isn't that simple, Bill.'

'Sure it is.'

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again. She had suddenly caught sight of a metal grilled vent about seven feet up the wall, behind the chair. A lone pipe ran a few feet under it. She frowned, and then glanced away from it, and back at Joel.

'Last time,' objected Bill, who spoke a little petulantly, 'It was over long before this.'

'I said it isn't that simple,' said Joel. He turned his half-hidden face to Hermione and spoke roughly. 'Did you come here with anyone?'

Hermione's mind flashed back to Ron, who was waiting patiently for her at the table. He would assume, she knew, that she needed a moment and would give her some time. She thought of Ron with his gentle eyes, and suddenly felt a burst of pain inside her.

'I said, did you come here with anyone?' asked Joel, harshly. His mouth was twisted down in a hard, unpleasant manner.

Hermione found her voice. 'No,' she said, striving to keep it calm. 'I came here alone- for a drink.'

His mouth relaxed a little, and she heard the third man behind her exhale audibly. Suddenly, her mouth felt dry and she wondered if she'd made a mistake.

'What's your name?' asked Joel.

Hermione debated lying, but then wondered what the point was. 'Hermione Granger.'

His head tilted back a little, and she wondered if he was surprised. 'Granger?'

'That's right.'

'Mudblood, are you?'

She didn't answer, but her lip curled distastefully. The sting of that word had gone; it had replaced by a general sense of disgust for anyone who used it.

'If you choose to call me that, yes.'

'Joel, what are we waiting for?' asked Bill. He sounded tense, ready to snap. Hermione felt strangely calm, although she knew exactly what they were talking about. Her eyes sneaked back to the vent, and she noticed that the grilling was in one piece, and was ridiculously loose. Two of the corners had snapped off. A hard shove would get rid of that, and a foot on the pipe would get her up to the vent.

But for that, she would need her wand.

'We'll take her back with us.' said Joel.

Both Bill and Hermione gasped: Bill from surprise, and Hermione from horror. Her mind made itself up in that moment. There was no way she was going to let them take her "back", wherever that was. The door was locked, and moreover the corridor outside was too long to make an escape through, but there was a chance- a minute one, but one, nonetheless- that she could make it through the vent. She glanced at her wand, which Joel still held, along with his own, and then put a hand to her head and fell dramatically to the floor, closing her eyes tight.

Bill swore. 'Did you curse her?'

'No, I think she fainted.'

'Well- what do we do?'

'I'll pick her up,' said Joel, 'And we'll take her back with us. Hang on-'

Hermione heard footsteps approaching, and tightened. Any moment now-

A hand closed around her wrist, and the next moment, her three inch Manolo Blahnik was soaring through the air. She made direct contact with Joel's crotch, and he let out a muffled yelp of pain. The grip on her wrist loosened, and she opened her eyes. Her wand was two inches from her face: he had dropped it, and cupped his fingers where she kicked him. She grabbed at it, and then hoisted herself to her feet.

In the second it took the other two men to understand what was happening, she had pointed her wand at them and screamed, 'Stupefy! Stupefy!' She didn't pause to see whether the spells hit their targets, but made straight for the wall with the vent. She kicked desperately, and locked the edge of one heel into the pipe. Grabbing at cracks in the wall with desperate fingers, she tried to hoist herself up, but at that moment the heel that had just delivered a hefty kick to Joel's crotch twisted viciously, and her ankle turned with a loud crack. Hermione yelped as the pain splintered up her ankle. Instinctively, her hands tried clasp it, and she lost her balance and fell to the floor with a thud that resounded in her skull. Spots danced in front of her eyes, and she blinked twice, trying to make sense of the voices coming from far away.

'Joel, are you alright!'

'Ignore me, you idiot, and get her!'

'Don't worry, she isn't going nowhere. I think she broke her ankle. That was some kick.'

'I said, get the girl. Stupefy her, and then we get the fuck out of here.'

'No,' Hermione whispered. She wasn't sure if anybody heard her. 'No- you can't take me.'

The next moment, she saw a flash of red light, and then everything went black.

* * *


	2. Revolvers and Questions

**CHAPTER 2**

The first thing Hermione was conscious of was a bright flash of white light.

It burnt through her eyelids, coloring them blood-red, and she instinctively threw an arm over her face. Her muscles moved stiffly, and something in her neck snapped at the sudden movement. She winced with pain, and then wondered where she was. Opening her eyes cautiously, she blinked twice and then looked around.

She was lying down on the floor of a small room. As she twisted her neck, she caught sight of the door slamming shut, and the hem of someone's robes whipping past it. There came a grating noise of a bolt being drawn, and she realized that she was trapped. She sat up, and pressed her palms against her temples as bits and pieces of her memory came back to her. She had been at the tavern, with Ron, and then she had gone to the bathroom, and walked in on-

Her eyes widened and she sat up very straight.

She turned her head to one side with some difficulty and eyed the room. It was little, with cement flooring, and plain whitewashed walls. A small table and chair set sat in the far corner, and an electric fan was nailed to the wall. She did a quick scan: no windows, no vents, and no other way to get out of it.

'Alright,' she muttered to herself. The sound of her own voice had a calming effect on her: the silence of the room had been vaguely alarming. 'You don't have your wand and you're locked in- go over to that table and check its drawers.'

She tried to hoist herself to her feet, but let out a muffled yelp of pain as the weight fell on her twisted ankle. She had entirely forgotten that she had wrenched it, but judging from the splinters that were racing through the bones, it wasn't very much better. Someone had taken off both her heels, and she could see that it was swollen dramatically. She groaned, wishing she had her wand with her at least to heal herself. She cast a determined look towards the table, and then pressed her palms against the floor, inching her way across it on her bum till she got to the wall. Her fingers groped across the splintered, white-washed surface from cracks, and then used them to brace herself into a standing position.

'Okay,' she murmured, firmly. 'Now, simply make your way to the table. Come on, you know you can.'

She subjected it to another intense look, and then began to slide across the wall, hopping ridiculously on one leg. Her back was pressed up against the powdery surface, and she was sure she was getting white dust all over the back of her jacket.

_Oh, yes, Hermione, because that's what you should be worrying about right now._

She heaved a sigh of relief as she crossed the corner to the table, and rested her thighs against it, trying to soothe the pain that was throbbing in her ankle. The backs of her hands brushed against the wood, and she bent forward a little, opening the small drawers under the top. The first one had nothing but paper clips, staples, and a punch. She considered unwinding a paper clip and trying to pick the lock of the door, but then remembered that it was bolted and shook her head.

The second drawer had a small sheaf of papers, stapled together. Biting her lip, Hermione pulled the first one out, and flipped over it. It seemed to be a list of cities- mostly in Eastern countries- with corresponding numbers beside them. Wondering vaguely whether she had stumbled into the operations of a spy organization, she put it back and opened the third drawer.

In which she found a revolver.

Hermione's eyes widened, as she saw it. It was a dark metal, gleaming almost black. It was tucked into a nest of cloth that she realized was a crumpled up jacket, and a small piece of checked material that transpired to be a scarf. She stared at it for a few moments, afraid to even touch it.

She was just about to close the drawer, certain she'd never be able to hold a gun, when she heard light footsteps outside her room. Instinctively, her fingers closed around the butt of the revolver- wincing when she felt the sharp coldness of the metal- and a second later, she had dropped it into the wide pockets of her trousers. She slid the drawer shut, slumped to the floor, and made her way to the center of the room before the bolt was drawn back and the door opened.

She recognized the man standing at the door. With his hood removed, Joel transpired to have wispy auburn hair, a fox-like face, and narrow dark eyes. His robes were slightly askew, and he observed her with the same sense of contemplation that she had noticed before.

'Who are you?' she asked, pleased to realize her voice was steady this time. The cold lump of the revolver against her thigh gave her surprising confidence. 'Why did you bring me here?'

He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped into the room, and leaned forward. One of his arms gripped her forearm, and Hermione flinched, but before she could do anything he had slung another one under her armpit, and hauled her to her feet. She winced as she gingerly tested the weight of her body on her ankle- she wasn't sure if she could walk- but the next moment he had picked her up and shrugged her into a more comfortable position in his arms.

Hermione didn't wriggle too much. She knew he was having a little difficulty carrying her, and thought that causing him to drop her probably wasn't the smartest move. Besides, she didn't want to alert him to the fact that she currently had a revolver in her pocket. Instead, she remained very stiff as he walked out of the room and kicked the door shut with his foot. It was only when he started traipsing down a wide, short corridor, that she remarked, a little curtly, 'You know, if you just healed my ankle, I could walk perfectly well myself.'

'That's what I'm worried about,' said Joel.

Hermione blinked with surprise. She hadn't really expected him to answer, but he seemed comfortable enough. The corridor had ended and dissolved into a large room with an oval table and chairs dotted around it. She looked around, but once against couldn't find windows. The room was dim and cool, with brisk silver fittings, and the chairs were upholstered in comfortable black. She glanced back at Joel, and then decided to try her luck.

'Where am I?' she asked.

He chuckled. 'Do you really think I'm going to tell you that?'

'Why have you brought me here?'

He glanced down at her, and then walked across to one the chairs. Tipping her lightly into it, he said, 'Now we wait.'

'For what?' asked Hermione. She received no reply. Annoyed, and not a little frightened, she folded her arms across her chest, and said, 'How long have I been out?'

This time, he answered. 'Six hours.' he said.

She did a quick calculation. 'So it's three in the morning?'

'Could be.'

'How did you get me out of the tavern? When are you letting me go?'

'Stop asking so many questions.' For the first time he sounded annoyed, and Hermione decided to let it drop. She bent down, and let her fingers brush lightly against her ankle. It was painfully stiff and sore, not helped my the fact that without her shoes her feet were _cold._

Joel had turned his back to her, and instead, was arranging a sheaf of papers on the table. Hermione wondered whether she could get out of the room before he noticed, but ruefully abandoned that thought. She could barely walk, and besides, she was nakedly wandless. Instead, she tried to crane her neck as subtly as she could and catch a glimpse of the papers he was arranging. As far as she could make out, it was a list of words with numbers along side them, like the ones she had found in the desk.

Steps sounded in the corridor, and both Hermione and Joel looked up. Joel clicked his tongue with satisfaction, and crossed the table, taking the seat directly opposite Hermione. She felt her throat contract with fear, and let her hand drop quietly to the bulge in her pocket: the revolver was strangely comforting.

Long shadows crossed into the room, and three figures entered.

Hermione eyed them carefully. As far as she could make out, all three were unknown to her. Two of them were tall, with messy crops of dark hair. The third was a little shorter and stockier, and he wore a baseball cap low over his face. Unlike the others, who were in robes, he was dressed in a ridiculously large tee shirt and jeans. Hermione sniffed with disgust.

They entered the room and took their seats silently. The boy in the baseball cap eyed Hermione speculatively, but the other two ignored her presence. They had leaned over the table, and were talking in hushed voices with Joel.

'-end up being the biggest catastrophe,' said the first man. Hermione noticed that both looked very alike, and had similar expressions of concern and anxiety etched across their faces. She wondered if they were brothers.

'I don't think so,' replied Joel. 'What you've got to understand, Robin, is that it was a spur of the moment decision.'

Neither Robin nor his brother- if that was what he was- looked pleased. 'And he really said it would work out?'

'He seemed pleased. I think he knows her.'

Hermione pricked her ears up.

'How on earth-?'

'Nothing definite he told me, I just got the idea, is all. And not in an impersonal way, either. When I told him her name, he sort of blinked and nodded.'

'And he really thinks that she can be useful?'

'He seems to.'

'I don't believe it.' Robin's eyes flickered towards her, and then back to Joel. 'She doesn't look like the useful kind. More like the type of corporate floozy in a cocktail party, or-'

'Excuse me,' said Hermione, loudly. All the occupants of the table started and looked at her. Well, she thought, furiously, that was their problem. She might be scared and clueless as to where she was, but they had no business talking about her as though she weren't there.

'Are you talking about me?' she asked, coldly.

Joel blinked.

'I thought I told you not to ask so many questions.' he said.

'That was before you started discussing me without even including me in the conversation!'

The boy in the cap raised his eyebrows. Robin frowned. 'This does not concern you-' he began, in a pompous manner, but Hermione cut him off.

'I'm afraid it does.'

'We weren't talking about you.'

'I don't believe that. You've brought me here against my own will, and you're nothing but a bunch of cowardly murderers! Now, either you explain to me what the fuck is going on, or you let me go, and I-'

She had been working herself up into a proper temper, which was mirrored in their faces. But as she spoke, she saw their anger slowly fade, and be replaced by an expression of deference and nervousness. Her voice trailed off, and she stared at them.

'Well, what's wrong? Of all the lily-livered little-'

'Excuse them, Granger, but they've never shown the best of courage.'

Hermione whirled around in her seat, and instinctively tried to bolt to her feet. Her twisted ankle crumpled, she let out a little shriek as she lost her balance and fell to the floor. In the split second it took her to fall she was conscious of a tall, lean figure dressed in black, and bright, flame colored hair, and the next thing she knew her shoulder was crashing into the ground, and a wave of pain was spreading across her torso.

'Son of a BITCH!'

She swore loudly as the pain peaked. Her ear was pressed against the floor, and she heard someone take quick steps towards her. Suddenly, cool hands were moving across her arms, gripping her shoulders tightly and helping her sit up. Supple fingers found the gap between her collarbone and the lapels of her jacket and pressed into the skin, numbing the pain a little. She blinked hard, trying to dispel the tears that had gathered from the pain, and then looked blearily up.

A pale face swum in and out of focus. Whoever it was was crouched on the ground beside her. One of his hands was snug between her shoulder blades, supporting her back, and the other was continuing its soothing movements at the base of her neck. She blinked up at the person a few more times, and caught sight of a wide brow, a long slender nose, and a supple mouth that hovered above an aggressive chin. Dark gray eyes, the color of old iron, inspected her shoulder. She looked up at his ridiculously bright hair, and at the same time, remembered his voice from before, and then it clicked.

'You!'

She gasped, and her eyes widened. She tried to inch away from him, but his hand closed down on her wrist, and Draco Malfoy stared angrily down at her.

'That's not exactly polite, Granger.' he said, a touch rebukingly. 'I _am_ trying to help you, after all.'

'I don't need your help!' she snapped. She was suddenly very aware of how cold his hand was around her wrist, and felt a wave of disgust. Her face curved into a snarl, and she tried jerking her arm from his.

Malfoy looked amused. 'Relax,' he said. 'You're shoulder's bruised. I'll see to that in a moment. For now, will you please stop wriggling around so that I can pick you up and put you on a chair?'

'Don't TOUCH me,' Hermione snarled, but he was already fixing his arms around her back and lifting her. He carried her to the chair she'd been on and helped her into it. Hermione fixed a scowl on her face, glaring up at him as he stepped back and inclined his head towards the others at the table.

Her mind was working furiously. What was Draco Malfoy doing here? Was he the elusive "he" that Joel had been talking about? Did he have something to do with the murder she had just seen? And more importantly, what the hell did he want with her?

The four people seated at the table had nodded towards Malfoy with expressions of respect. Hermione stared at them in disgust. Joel had stood up, and indicated the papers he had been arranging.

'That's the reports from Hong Kong,' he said, 'The ones you wanted in detail. I got Feng to send them to me. He's a little pissed, by the way.'

'That's his problem,' said Malfoy, curtly. 'Not a big deal, anyway. If it gets worse, bring it up in the next meeting. I called this one solely for Granger's benefit.'

All eyes turned to her, but her expression remained mutinous. Joel looked faintly anxious, and the baseball cap boy raised his eyebrows even further up. Robin looked annoyed.

'Draco, I wanted to talk to you about that.'

'Her,' said Draco, mildly. Robin blinked.

'Her, then. Are you sure bringing her _here_ was the right thing to do?'

'I should think so,' said Draco. His voice remained neutral, but Hermione detected a hint of anger behind his words. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she surveyed him.

'Draco, I-'

'Robin, keep quiet for a moment. We'll talk about your problems later. First, I think Granger has a right to know why she was brought here.'

'And,' Hermione interjected, coldly. 'Where _here_ really is.'

Malfoy's eyes turned towards her, and rested on her face.

'Right,' he said, with the beginnings of a smile. 'Where _here_ really is.'

* * *

The rain was trickling down to a drizzle by the time Ron eased his car into the parking lot of the Ministry's Muggle Entrance. His movement's were quick and frantic as he cut the engine and raced out of the car. It was late enough that the lobby was relatively empty, and he rushed to the elevators, conscious of every second that passed. The elevator doors rattled as he slammed them shut and jabbed at the button. It's movements seemed unnaturally slow today; he hopped up and down on his heels as it travelled to the fourth floor, and then dashed out the minute the doors opened.

His blood pounded in his ears as he raced down the corridor, and skidded to a stop beside a door that was marked, _Harry Potter, Vice-President, Sub-Division C, Auror Department. _He knocked impatiently on the door.

Harry's voice sounded annoyed. 'Come in.'

He yanked the door open and strode into the room. Despite the fact that it was almost one in the morning, Harry was sitting at his desk with the lamp on. Scores of papers were scattered around him, and he was inking them with his signature. He looked up as Ron entered, and his impatient expression was replaced with one of concern.

'Ron? What are you doing here? What-'

Ron cut him off. 'It's Hermione.' he said. 'I can't find her.'

Harry frowned. 'Is that it? I'm sure she's gone out for a late night drink, or something. In the morning-'

'No, Harry, you don't understand,' said Ron, interrupting him again. 'We were having dinner at the tavern, and she went to the bathroom and never came back.'

Harry blinked.

'What? When was this?'

Ron bit his lower lip. 'About nine,' he admitted.

Harry glanced at his watch. 'Ron- it's past midnight!'

'I know! I waited for ages. I thought she might need a minute alone, you know. We were talking about some- stuff. Anyway, after about twenty minutes, I went to the loo, and then combed out that entire fucking tavern. I even got the keeper to open some of the rooms upstairs to check if she was there. I thought maybe she'd got upset and just left, but she'd left her bag at the table and her car keys were in it. So I drove around for a while looking for her on the road- I went right up to the crossroads, in fact.'

Harry ground his nails into his palm, trying to curtain his frustration. It annoyed him sometimes, how little Ron understood Hermione. She wasn't the type to lose her mind and do stupid things. If she had really gotten so upset that she wanted to leave, she would calmly apparated out of there- without leaving her handbag behind. It was that more than anything else that convinced him that something was wrong.

He stood up and ran his hands through his hair.

'Fine,' he said, 'Fine- here's what we're going to do. I want you to go to the tavern and make sure that nobody leaves it, and that the washroom is left untouched, so that we can check it for magical traces. I'll call a team, register a case, and be there in ten minutes.'

* * *

**Author's Note: Well? What do you think? It was a little disappointing, because when I read over it over, it seemed a little boring, which is not how I want Draco to enter the story. I tried rewriting it a couple of times, and now I'm a little happier.**

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